


For Auld Lang Syne, My Dear

by paperficwriter



Category: Lucifer (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 05:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10379562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperficwriter/pseuds/paperficwriter
Summary: A rainy New Year's Eve sends a certain demoness into Lucifer's Los Angeles night club.





	

New Year’s Eve. A night that always makes Lucifer stop and take notice, not of himself, but of the world around him. The mortal world, making such a big to-do about the rotation of a planet on which they are but little specks of nothing. They lament, they celebrate, they make grandiose promises of change. Millions of lives take pause to acknowledge and anticipate what the future holds...only to then turn around and forget about it within a week’s time, returning to bad habits and making all new, shiny mistakes.

Not that he didn’t love the business it drummed up. Tonight, Ex Lux was filled beyond capacity, its patrons sharply dressed to the nines and having quite a time drinking their way through the witching hours and beyond. Music played softly through the modern club, giving apt soundtrack behind the tinkling of glasses and ice, the laughter, and, above all, the fine classiness and exquisite taste of the Morningstar. Round tables and red upholstered booths shone under the glow of twinkling lights strung among the rafters, and the candles on the counter spaces lining the walls gave off magicked flame in the colors of dark blue, silver and white.

Lucifer leaned against the trimming of a tall window and watched the tracks of rain outside. A storm in Los Angeles on New Year’s Eve...quite a sight. And not simply a drizzle or humid cloud of mist. No, a downpour, soaking everything and making it shine in a way that was quite lovely, reflecting the streetlamps and electric lights of the city. His home, now.

“Sir?”

Turning, Lucifer nodded to his personal attendant, Amelio, as the fly-headed man stood close to his side. His compound eyes focused on him, antennae twitching just so as he held out a tray with a drink.

“My apologies for bothering you. I was asked to present you with a drink from the Gorgon and her coterie. Count Villous has also requested that I extend an invitation for you to join them for cards at their private booth, and Archdemon Paimon has been requesting an audience with you. Three times in as many hours.”

Lucifer picked up the tumbler of golden liquor and lifted it to his nose, breathing in the notes of oak and nut and a sweetness on the back end. “I assume you’ve explained that I am not available but that I send my regards? I’m quite busy, as you can see.”

“Perhaps in a few more words than that, but yes, sir.”

“And that is why I hold you in such regard, Amelio.” He took a sip of the drink, letting it settle on his tongue before he swallowed it, swirling the remains in the glass. “I think I’ll nurse this for a time. Perhaps then my guests will stop insisting on sending me their poor choices of beverage.”

“Is there something perhaps you would like for me to bring instead? Perhaps something of similar color that is more to your liking?”

Lucifer grinned, reaching out with his free hand to pat his servant’s shoulder. “Good man. No, continue as you have been. And if they become rowdy, remind them whose establishment this is.”

With a small bow, Amelio disappeared once more into the crowd, and Lucifer was left with a glass and his own observations. As he removed a silver cigarette case from his pocket to fish himself out a smoke, the door to the club blew open with a gust, slamming into the adjacent wall like a crack of thunder. At first, he thought that perhaps it had just been a sudden change caused by the air pressure and weather outdoors, and waited for the few who were scrambling to push it closed and usher back in the steady beats of merriment that had halted like a scratched record, startled by the abrupt sound. But there was a pause as hands checked the latches to make certain that it would not happen again, and a figure slipped inside past them, out of the wet rainy night.

The first word that came to Lucifer’s mind was ‘blood.’ That is what she looked like, in her crimson gown, gloves and cloak: a thin sliver cut dripping slow but graceful, settling in the dark wall of the club as she regained her bearings from a loud entrance she hadn’t been planning. The scarlet fabric gave what he could see of her flesh an almost alabaster quality, although her face remained hidden by the cloak but for a hint of a chin. And she had the most darling wings, small and fluttering and sending crystalline droplets of rainwater scattering about. Not that they were too terribly petite, but then...most wings seemed diminutive compared to his own.

A demoness. Not uncommon in his establishment and yet...what drew him to her?

Shyly, her focus still on the festivities ahead of her and unaware of the attention she was drawing from him, she pushed the hood back and --

For a moment, the King of Hell stopped breathing entirely.

In so many years of his life - in Paradise among his brethren, in Hell upon his throne, and on the tempestuous, changing, surprising Earth - Lucifer did not believe he had ever seen a face as perfect as hers. Beautiful pale skin, dark eyes, a cascade of stunning blue black hair that she moved and handled with the back of one delicate hand...and though certainly gorgeous on her right hand side, it was the contrast of the left that truly made Lucifer aware of the gift of her presence.

Because the opposite side was rot, deformed, as if the skin had been plucked away to nothing, leaving the ruined muscle beneath exposed to the elements. Her dark lips gave way there to pale teeth that he could see shift in her jaw, and the vacant eye socket was as black as a night sea. Yet even despite only one eye - and only one ear, he saw, as she ran her fingers over the spot, perhaps a nervous twitch - she seemed in no way hindered, her shy, tentative steps as aware as a mouse, taking in her surroundings with a cautious but inquisitive knowledge and awareness.

Lucifer had not even realized that his feet were moving until he was before her, and she had turned her regards to him. Well, not to him, it seemed, but his wings, the huge feathered mark of the angels, their edges a shimmery gold opalescence when the light hit them in just the right way. The tightening of her bare shoulders, the twitch of her throat, he knew immediately that she was distrustful of him.

It only excited him all the more.

She really did not know where she was, did she?

“May I take your cloak?” he asked, presenting his arm.

“Thank you, but no,” she said. Her voice had the slightest rasp to it as the words travelled along her tongue to either side of her face, and Lucifer smiled at the sound of it. “I won’t be staying long. Only until the rain lets up.”

“That may not be for some time. I can have it hung for you, so it will be dry for your walk home.”

The demoness considered that. No creature, mortal or not, enjoys being assaulted by the climate, after all.

“I assure you,” he added, “we can fetch it for you the moment you wish to go. When the storm calms. I’m sure you’ll be much more comfortable without it.”

She finally nodded just once, gave the red cape a small but firm shake so as not to soak his sleeve, and handed it to him. Lucifer himself was wearing what he wore most nights: a tailored and perfectly fitting suit coat, a white button-down shirt and well-pressed slacks. Perhaps the only special item that he had allowed himself was a black bowtie with silver star accents, just the smallest touch to recognize the holiday.

By the time he had presented her garment to be checked and had been given the small playing card that would act as token (a two of hearts, of course), he turned around to find that she had wandered off, toward the bar. He followed, though not quickly (he was eager, but knew better than to show it), and took a seat beside her at the counter. When she took notice of him again, she quickly averted her gaze and appeared as though she may disappear again when he held up the card in two fingers. “You won’t be easily leaving without this.”

She reached out for it - hellfire, he wanted to hold that beautiful hand - and he flicked his wrist, whisking it into his sleeve and out of sight. When her lips pursed with irritation, he very nearly laughed.

“What? Don’t you like magic?”

“I’d rather like to be able to get my cloak when I wish to.”

“It’s still raining. Harder, even. There’s no hurry.”

“Please,” she said, softly, her cheek blushing as other patrons noticed their conversation.

“Very well,” Lucifer said, turning his hand and presenting the card again, flipping it between his fingers like a coin. “I’ll give it to you. In exchange for one thing.”

“What?” Her eye seemed to dart between his hand and his eyes, nervous and cautious as a cat, her reach suspended and still in the air. Not breaking eye contact, Lucifer dropped the card so its edge traced the soft underside of her wrist, only hard enough that she would feel the faintest caress under the glove, then finally let it light in her grasp.

“Your name.”

For a moment, they both held the thin playing card between them, the noise of the club fading into nothing behind them. If given the opportunity, Lucifer would have lived in that moment for hours, but she plucked the token from him and rose, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “Mazikeen.”

Before she could get more than a few steps, Lucifer continued, “If you don’t like magic, Mazikeen, do you like games?”

It was hard to tell why she stopped walking, but what mattered was that she did. Excellent. “What kind of game?” she asked, rubbing her arms.

“The kind that you can’t lose.”

Again, the line of her sight fell on those great and powerful wings, and she bit the corner of her lip, the teeth of her left side grinding just so. “But you can?”

“Oh, yes,” Lucifer agreed. “But I would lose everything for just one chance to see you smile. And I think you shall, no matter whose favor this falls to.” Mazikeen shrank inwards as he walked towards her, so he kept his distance, what little he could stand. “I am a very talented pianist. Name a song. If I cannot play it for you or if I do not play it to your liking, I will not say another word to you for the remainder of the evening. You may leave whenever you wish.”

Mazikeen nodded once, then tilted her chin for him to continue. Good. She wasn’t immediately denying him, and that was a good enough sign even for him.

“And if I enchant you with my music, then you shall allow me to buy you one drink, and share my company only until the glass is empty. What you do after that is entirely up to you. Perhaps you’ll want a second. Or something more sweet to your palate.”

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but the tiniest, coy smile that graced her face wasn’t it. She was already taking him off guard, and that was more than the entire evening - no, the entire month - had done for him. He wanted to see what else she may have in store for him. “Are you familiar with Franz Liszt?” she asked in a lilting, somewhat playful tone.

“If I said ‘no,’ that would put you at a distinct advantage, but...yes, I am.”

“So you won’t have any problem playing Transcendental Étude No. 7 in E-flat.”

“Eroica? It’s not the most difficult of them. Why that one?"

“Because that’s my favorite.” It was a simple explanation, but Lucifer was utterly delighted by it. Not because of its innocent charm but the hidden threat that perhaps she only realized on a subconscious level. ‘If you don’t provide me with my favorite piece of music just the way I like it, then I won’t have to see your face again.’

“It’s a deal, then.” Lucifer put his hand out, palm raised, and after a moment, Mazikeen rested hers in it. It was as light and soft as he had thought it would be, and he could feel her warmth through the thin glove, could see the slight indentation that the seam created at her elbow. When he raised it to his face, she seemed to tighten, like a creature gauging whether to fight or fly, and he just held it beneath his nose, like it was a glass of wine. He could smell the rain there, something smoky, and the night air of Los Angeles.

It took every tiny mote of willpower in him not to press his lips to those knuckles, to taste the crevice between her ring and pinkie fingers, to pull the fabric with his teeth and take the whole glove off, throw it aside, and --

And he only just restrained himself, letting her arm return to the safety of her side as he took to the grand piano.

Although Lucifer had only been playing for the club since its opening (and even then only of an occasion), his interest in music was rooted throughout history, something he came back to when he needed an activity with which to ground himself. An unexpected hobby for someone such as himself, perhaps, or at least would seem so to those who had a certain outlook about who he was, who judged him as some cloven-hoofed, horned devil more likely to carry around extravagant golden fiddles than the beautiful instrument that he now sat at. Perhaps it was for the better, though - the stories, the fairy tales. It kept the waking world guessing and vulnerable to his whims.

Heads turned as he relaxed his shoulders and readied himself to play, and he could feel countless eyes watching him, drinks being placed down, conversations being hushed. A few stepped eagerly towards the dance floor, waiting to so they could judge the melody and tempo of the piece before stepping into a waltz, or a tango, or...

They would be most disappointed.

Eroica did not lend itself to dancing. To the untrained ear, in fact, it could be downright discordant at points, especially at the start with its pounding notes. Lucifer struck them hard, feet sinking at the pedals, the shine of his black shoes flashing and reflecting on the floor. The piece required a strong hand to create a dynamic juxtaposition between the first bars and the following ones, the graceful lilting keys -- it required a musician’s equivalent of a surgeon’s hand to offer them a sweeter sound before building to a crescendo that almost immediately fell away into a muddy birdsong of keys. The piece was unpredictable, a quickly changing tune, one that needed to be chased and caught as it dashed its way across the piano. Its swell and fading, turning and changing, made what was only five minutes seem to last an entire night.

But then, it was over.

As Ex Lux filled with uncertain, curious claps, Lucifer reached up to straighten his bowtie, because it was the simplest thing he could think to do in order to not blatantly seem like he was catching his breath. He much preferred a languid, relaxing song that guests could dance to, that he could lose himself in, but...

But this had been worth it, when he saw Mazikeen, the way she stared at him. She had her hand pressed to her chest as if holding her heart in there, and she was rooted to the spot where he had left her. Even despite her being physically incapable of doing so, the pleased smile seemed to spread across her entire face, flood her body. The card she had kept gripped in her hand - forgotten in the music - bent a bit, and she slipped it into the in-seam of her glove.

If that wasn’t an indication that he had won the game, he did not know what would be a better one.

Lucifer stood, victorious, and made his way back to her, nodding genially to the words of the sundry gathered who complimented him on the song. He was within a few feet of his prize when a tall, brooding creature stepped into his path. “My Lord Lucifer,” Archdemon Paimon rumbled, the force of his presence sending the collected crowd away like a wave to a flock of sandpipers. “Hail, Morningstar.”

Lucifer’s eyes fluttered shut with annoyance. “Your Malevolence,” he said, finally acknowledging him. “Excuse me. I have a previous --”

“Have you received my missives? I had asked your servant to deliver them to you personally.” The horned giant looked nearly comical as he patted at his three-piece suit, smoothing it down, talons nearly catching the buttons at his breast before folding them in front of himself. His yellow eyes glowed as he stared Lucifer down.

“And deliver them he did. But I have been quite occupied this evening. I still am, in fact.”

“Yes, you seem quite busy with entertainment, I’ve noticed.” The meaning behind his words was unmistakeable. Was the brute actually trying to call him out? Publicly?

Well, then.

For just a moment, Lucifer allowed the space around him to grow dark, his wings flexing out and his voice, though quiet, took on a blade’s edge of irritation. “I don’t believe that you are in any position to criticize my schedule, Archdemon. Although I can only assume based on your insistence to ignore my polite hints that what you have to speak about is a matter of emergency.”

“Be that as it may --”

“I think it would bode quite poorly for you at this point if it was not a matter of life or death or some holy conflict.” The air between them was cold, a spot of death, and his words were clipped as he finished. “From your silence, would you say it is...not, then?”

The beastman took a step back. Only one, perhaps, but one was all Lucifer needed to know that his point had been made. “It is not,” he finally conceded.

“Grand!” Lucifer was immediately once more in the pose and air of the gracious host, reaching out to take one of the huge, clawed hands in both of his, a hearty shake despite their difference in size. “Then we shall speak further in the new year! Until then, please. Enjoy your time at Ex Lux.”

He held on for another moment more than he needed to before all but pushing the demon aside so he could again, finally focus on the demoness waiting for him. Though when he approached, she seemed to shift away, the pleased regard on her face now turned a soft disappointment. “What is it?” he asked. “You seemed to like the song a moment ago. Has it gone sour that quickly?”

“You. You are Lucifer Morningstar?”

“I am.”

“And this club...belongs to you?”

“I certainly hope so. That would quite a dilemma, were that not the case. But to my knowledge, yes. Do you like it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”   

  

He shrugged, unable to keep back the teasing smile from blooming across his expression. “You didn’t ask. Would it have mattered?”

That question caught her off guard, because though she opened her mouth to reply, she closed it, then finally said, “I suppose not.”

Lucifer gently pressed her bare shoulder back toward the bar, away from the ears that were dropping in on their conversation. His thumb stroked three freckles, collected like stars on the upper ridge of her scapula. Beautiful, truly, in every way. “Then I believe our terms were one drink, yes?”

\---

It hadn’t been hard to find them a table with comfortable, plush stools they could sit on. Truthfully, Lucifer would have preferred something more intimate - one of the round booths covered by a linen canopy - but he knew that not all creatures had the flexibility his wings afforded him.

He passed the glass of merlot to Mazikeen before settling down. When he had asked what she wanted, she had said that anything would do. “I thought perhaps something with a complex flavor would suit you. And I won’t deny that the color matched your ensemble quite well, and I am known for my taste in aesthetics.”

She gave him a small smile from the corner of her mouth. As she took a sip from the glass, she tipped her head at the slightest angle, clearly to keep the wine from slipping between her teeth. It was a practical gesture, of course, but Lucifer couldn’t help but be endeared by it.

“You are an extremely talented piano player,” she said, softly, placing the glass on the table with barely a clink. “I wasn’t sure how you would tackle that piece.”

“I’ll admit. I have had...quite a preoccupation with the piano, so I’ve had a bit more practice than the average immortal.”

“When did you start playing?”

“With the harpsichord.”

That made her laugh. The lightest chuckle, which she hid behind a gloved hand, her eye crinkling with mirth. “Your guests didn’t seem to know what to think.”

“Well, that’s fine. Because I wasn’t playing for them.”

Finally, he moved to bridge the distance between them, pressing his way across the tabletop lightly enough that his fingertips wouldn’t skid, but then...like a scarlet snake, she pulled away, just as he could make out the fibers of her glove beneath his digits. It wasn’t a cold move, though...no, there was just a hint of her teeth on the unsullied side of her face, biting her lip, her gaze directed from under long eyelashes.  

Minx, he thought.

“What were you doing out on a rainy New Year’s Eve?” he asked, retreating to prop his chin in his palm, taking a sip of the simple gin and tonic that he had gotten for himself. “Or may I just assume that fate intended to bring you to my arms.”

“I was on my way to an event my mother was having. A...family affair.” She picked up the merlot and took a drink from it. A large drink.

Lucifer wasn’t ignorant. He was able to recognize if not from sight than definitely from her tastes that Mazikeen was one of the Lilim, a daughter of Lilith. “She won’t be pleased that you made other plans for the evening, will she,” he stated rather than asked, the ice in his glass tinkling as he shook it slightly to further muddy the liquors.

“Have I made other plans for the evening?” she asked, jokingly.

“You’ll pardon me if I hope so.”

“I suppose I’ve made plans for one drink,” she replied coolly, though she did put the stemware back on the table between them. It was still half-full.

“Ah, but wouldn’t that be a thing, my dear? Abandoning a dull night of reunions and tradition for a dance with the devil?” He drew close, as if sharing a secret with her. “Imagine the rumors it could start. I am nothing if not perfect for rebellious daughters.”

She didn’t recoil from him. On the contrary, despite the quiet shyness that seemed to so pleasantly color her movements, she leaned in close to him, and now he was able to see all the intricate cuts and weaving of the exposed muscles, immediately seized by the desire to kiss that red cheek, to taste the aged exposure there. With her lips parted, the pink of her tongue darted to her teeth, slipping between the molars. “You make it sound like you have a habit of collecting rebellious daughters, Lord Morningstar.”

“Call me Lucifer. Please.” Then, he added, “Call me anything, if it will keep you here.”

Something across the dance floor caught his attention, and he glanced to see a brood of fanged women regarding him with no small amount of hunger. They were slight, pale creatures, and when they noticed his attention, their dark eyes seemed to glow at him, beckoning. In fact, he could feel deep in his chest the tug of their charms, but he was much more powerful than that, not one to be lured in by supernatural promises of carnal wonders.

“You probably need to go attend to your guests,” Mazikeen said softly, and then gasped, because Lucifer had made no small gesture this time of touching her, of touching her face especially. It was like his body had moved entirely on its own, without his regard or real consideration, and as quickly as he had been looking away he had his fingers holding her chin in a grip that was both tender and unyielding.

“The only person I want to attend to is right here in front of me.” he said, his eyes focused on her face, on the tremor of her bottom lip. His thumb barely below the curve of her mouth, it moved back and forth between the velveteen skin and the harder blight at the other side.

Her breathing stuttered, the softest gasp escaping her slender throat.

“May I?” he barely whispered, inclining his head close to hers. “May I attend to you?”

Just as he was about to press his lips to hers, when his touch had softened, allowing her the choice...there was no helping being a bit crestfallen when she turned her face, and he barely ghosted across the corner of her mouth, the satin flush of her cheek. “We shouldn’t,” she said, looking down at the table between them.

“I don’t usually consider what I ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ do. Only what I want and what I will do.”

“Be that as it may...you are an angel. And I am a demon.” There was no mistaking the sadness in her face, however fleeting, even as she tried to cover it with a tiny smirk. “It would be blasphemous.”

“Would it? Says who?” He wasn’t at all daunted. Quite on the contrary. This sounded even more like a challenge for him to take up.

“We’re practically two different types of beings. It would be like...pairing a mortal with a beast.”

“May I be the beast in this scenario? It seems fitting.”

Mazikeen rolled her eye and picked up her glass to take another pull of the burgundy wine. It was getting lower, more than likely her intention. “Be serious.”

“I am very serious,” he went on, gesturing out to the collective ensemble of creatures in attendance. “Do you think any of them are cut from the same cloth? Do you think they care what entity of the universe is watching when they do whatever lurid things they plan on doing after midnight?”

“I also don’t see any angels. You are in an entirely different class, Lord Morningstar.”

“And what kind of class is that, exactly, dear?” Not breaking the gaze he had locked with her, Lucifer reached into his pocket to pull out a small folded blade that he carried with him, mostly for utility but also for occasional magics when necessary. When he moved to slide it against his palm, she grabbed his hand tight in both of hers.

“Don’t!”

He paused. Her grip on him was so tight that both of their heartbeats seemed to thrum: hers a heated pace, running, sprinting, while his own was a subdued steady count. “Concerned for me?” he asked quietly. “Why?”

“You don’t need to make a show to prove your point,” she said, realizing what a corner he was backing her into.

“Even if that is what I wish to do?” Then, he continued, “I have free will. I am not made to fulfill some purpose. I am not mindless, no matter how much that may have been the intent of the original design. And you are the same.”

“I’m not the one with a knife in my hand.”

“No, but you chose to stay. You chose to remain here, to listen to my music, to take my silly wager. And you chose not to finish your drink in one go.” He chuckled slightly, lifting the wrist she had captured so he could stroke her hand with his cheek. “Though that would have been unpleasant, I think.”

“I like to take my time,” she murmured, one of her fingers grazing the line of his jaw.

“And I the same. So perhaps we should both make a choice. You could finish your drink, and we could both move our own ways. Or...you can come dance with me.”

“I’m not sure,” she said, though her tone was light as she let him go, and he put the knife away. “If you aren’t playing the music, I’m not sure how much I’m going to like it.”

For the first time, she let him stand her up. Though her steps were hesitant, it was clear where she wanted to be, the wine forgotten along with perhaps some of her misgivings. “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure I can make it enjoyable for both of us.”

\---

Dancing wasn’t quite as easy as playing the piano, but Lucifer certainly knew how to use his body. Mazikeen seemed content to let him lead her, to follow his slow and careful yet graceful steps as they moved about the beautiful marble tiles. Her form fit perfectly against his, curves trailing against his muscles, her height just such that she could place her head on his shoulder.

“I think there are quite a few that would like to cut in and have a dance with you,” she murmured in his ear, glancing to the side. He opened his wing to block her view (and theirs of her).

“Too bad my dance card is already full. Not that there is much left to the evening. It’ll be midnight soon.”

“Already?”

“Time flies.”

He dipped her, waiting as the ends of her voluminous hair trailed near to the ground without touching it. When she was righted, her arm squeezed his back. “I should go, at the dawn of the new year. My mother will at least be expecting me to make some sort of appearance before the night is out...”

“What about simply...at dawn?” He flashed her a wolfish smile before reaching up to graze the disfigured side of her face. It made him want to handle her so, so carefully, like she was a fragile antique that if moved about too roughly would cause her to shatter. He traced the line of lean, red scarring under the dark space of eye socket, the indentation that would have been cheek bone. She didn’t turn away, though, or move his hand.

“Not one to give up easily, are you?” The edge of her lip curled as she glanced up him, and this close he could swear the blush travelled across both cheeks, a deep, wonderful redness.

“You haven’t told me ‘no’ yet.”

“And if I did?”

“Then I would kindly, albeit very dejectedly, take my leave, perhaps escort you to the coat check for your cloak and see you safely on your way. And only then if you would let me.” He sighed softly. “If not, I would simply watch you leave, wonder what may have been, in another life.”

“Just like that?”

Even despite his words, Lucifer pulled her closer and placed the hand he had been holding onto his shoulder. Still cradling the sweet and wicked cheek, he used the other to sweep her hair back from her ear and whisper into it. “Yes. But I don’t think that will happen.”

“No?” The single word was barely audible, curtailed by a soft gasp, elicited because Lucifer had thrown caution and regard to the wind in favor of tracing the sweet curve of her earlobe with his lips. The scent of rose and lemon tickled his nostrils -- a perfume, perhaps, or some fine soap lingering on her skin.

“I think you desire me as I desire you. I think that even in spite of a part of you believing that this is wrong, you are more interested to know all the wonderful and sordid things I might do to this perfect body of yours, all the secret places my forked tongue may find and taste.” He reached back, so lightly caressing the leathery muscle of her wings, which shivered under his touch. They were somehow both cool but housed a deeper warmth, and it fleeting made Lucifer wonder how they might taste, biting them, licking at the soft folds of skin where they met Mazikeen’s back.

“Even when you could have your pick of any woman in this club? Or man, in fact…”

Stroking both cheeks and relying on her to set the gentle pace of their steps, Lucifer gazed into her face with a smile that he hoped didn’t betray the hunger simmering just below the surface. “I don’t care for men, my dear. And while what you say is certainly true, well…” He kissed her temple, trailing down to the delicate patch of skin beneath her ear. “You are the only one who has succeeded in enthralling me.”

As she was about to reply, the great clock began to strike, and a clamor rose up in the hall of Ex Lux. Cheers and well-wishes for a new year, accompanied by off-key versions of ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ Champagne flutes clinked, and patrons kissed and smiled, and the music stopped to make way for the din of celebration, the steady count of midnight still cutting its way through.

Three...four…

“Say ‘yes,’ Mazikeen,” he pressed. “Certainly you would not want to welcome in poor fortune for the year by not sharing a kiss at midnight.”

Five...six…

He thought it would require more of his silver voice, but it didn’t. Wrapping one of her crimson-cloaked palms to the back of his neck, she pulled him down the two inches, and they were kissing. It was a wonderful blend of hard and soft - the massage of her lips, the bite of teeth, chaste...at first.

Seven...eight…

Still holding her face so, so gently, Lucifer slipped his tongue into her mouth, even further surprised as she welcomed him in with vigor, tasting him as he did her. He could still find the bittersweet flavor of the merlot there, coating the natural heat within.

Nine...ten…

“Come with me.” He peppered both her cheeks with kisses, winding his long, sinewy fingers into her hair. “Now.”

Eleven…

“Yes. Please...now.”

Wrapping her up in his embrace, just as the final toll struck, Lucifer enclosed them into a cocoon of his wings and with a grand flash of fire and a noise like alcohol being lit, they disappeared, leaving only the slightest puff of white smoke in their wake.

\---

Mazikeen startled in his arms as they appeared in his quarters above Ex Lux. It was dark but for the twilight luminescence that he had magicked above the four-post bed at the center of the room. He stepped out of his shoes and socks immediately so he could spread his toes on the black fur rug, pushing them under the bed. The walls were a shiny ebony, with only a few cherrywood shelves and four large, blood-red columns. There was a simple desk he didn’t use often - mostly utilitarian, which was fine. The only particularly interesting - and unspeakably vain - detail was the sprawling mirror that faced the bed.

Lucifer’s mouth followed her as he moved to toss his coat onto the chair, to loosen the bowtie. Her hands were smoothing across his chest, pausing at the buttons, thoughtfully. “Go ahead,” he said, licking her throat in one quick, wet swipe.

Mazikeen started fumbling with the buttons, though her fingers were shaking, her gloves slipping on their small, smooth surfaces. “It’s only a shirt,” he laughed softly. “I hold no affection for it. Just tear it off of me.”

A quick inhalation of breath at his words made him all the more eager to push her, to test her.

“Come now. The time for shyness is over. I want you to.”

With no further hesitation, she took hold of the parts of his shirt and tore it open, pressing her gloved hands almost immediately to his defined pecs, touching over his clavicle. He kissed her again, deeply, drinking her in as he backed her up until the edge of the bed hit her hamstrings, sitting her down.

“I know that Christmas has already come and passed,” he murmured, stroking the exposed sinews of tendons and bone on her face, the tip of his tongue tracing her lips to their end, to the teeth, “but you are the most perfect gift I could receive this winter’s night.”

“Lucifer…”

The sound of his name in that rough-but-silky voice elicited a small purr from him, an appreciative noise. “May I unwrap you? I want to see your body. All of it. I want to touch you, want to feel you writhe with pleasure beneath me.” He pressed his lips to her temple, nuzzling his nose into her hair. “I want to worship you the way you deserve.”

Mazikeen all but mewled under the touch of his mouth, but he felt her nod her consent.

Resting down on his knees, Lucifer took her hands first, kissed them, and then bit a hold of both her middle fingers, guiding her arms back as he pulled the gloves off with his mouth. The playing card token fluttered to the ground, and he placed it along with the discarded coverings under the bed. Then, it was her heels - flimsy strappy things - and he paused to enjoy the tight, thigh-high stockings, running his hands to her knee, blowing soft breaths against her pale, welcoming thighs before slipping them off with her lace panties.

“Utterly divine, top to bottom,” he said, pulling her against his chest as he played at her dress’s zipper, finally peeling the scarlet silk blend away like it was a flower petal. “And trust me, I know a thing or two about what divinity looks like.” He paused, his chest rumbling as he found a delightful garment beneath the dress: a corset. Black bone and tightly strung at the back, creating a pillowy shelf at her chest that he licked and kissed.

“Saying things like that,” Mazikeen replied, cupping his cheeks and dragging her teeth at his jaw, “it’s no wonder you are known for your temptations.”

“Temptation, yes. Flattery, no. I am not the king of lies, as everyone seems to think. I just tell the truth, no matter how inconvenient.” He moved around her onto the bed, shifting her hair away so he could mouth and suck at the curve of her shoulder while he gripped at the corset, dragging his fingers along the tight restraining bonds. “And the truth is...you must have been destined to end up in my bed tonight, Mazikeen. Dressed like this? It was like you were preparing yourself for me.”

She was going to say something to that but didn’t get the chance, as he suddenly tore into the undergarment’s strings with his teeth. They snapped like whips, and she cried out, not with pain but lustful wantonness. Her wings splayed out, flapped with surprise, like a bird about to take flight, and Lucifer grabbed them, massaging the weathered, corded muscles as he finished yanking, pulling, spitting out small pieces of cord onto the floor, momentarily overtaken by the savage need that had wormed its way into his heart. A need for her. All of her.

Once the corset had been tossed away, he dragged her onto the bed, practically throwing her into the plush pillows at his headboard before making quick work of the remains of his own clothing, kicking them away. The warm air of the room somehow still managed to feel cool on his skin, which had dampened with excited perspiration. Finally, finally, they were bare to one another’s gaze: him, a golden god among men, and her, a rare specimen of hellish beauty.

Forcing himself to slow down - nearly painful though it was but an effort he would exercise, if it would keep her here longer - he dropped his body on hers, kissing her with languid, savoring depth, like she was the most decadent morsel he had ever tasted in his long, long existence. “Perfect,” he said against her lips, “flawless, glorious, my sweet demoness…”

“Lucifer,” she gasped, arching her hips against his. “Please…”

“Oh no,” he said in a teasing sing-song tone. “Best not to start begging so soon...or that word will very quickly lose meaning on that delightful tongue.”

She dropped her head back as he made his way down her body, tracing all the wonderful curves with his lips, his teeth. Had he ever held such soft, pliant breasts in his hands? Ones that responded so agreeably to his sharp canines as he dragged them against the nipples, enticing them to rise, to darken? Had he ever been so enchanted by a bare, silken belly, even the navel encouraging delicious moans when he dipped his tongue inside? If he had, all experience now paled in comparison to this moment, to the treasure beneath him.

Finally, after the sweetest eternity, he was between her legs. The smell of her heat, its slickness, greeted him, more impressive and delectable to his gaze than any expensive drink. Exquisite. He opened his mouth, breathing on it with air from the deepest part of his throat, and with his hands squeezing the globes of her rear, he could sense as much as see her tighten and writhe.

“Please, Lucifer!” she called from the headboard, her fingers scratching for purchase on the sheets.

“In due time,” he murmured before pressing chaste, close-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs, lavishing the most tender attention on all places but the sweet pocket of wonders at the center of it all. His wings opened and curled around him, stroking such light trails along her sides, and he felt her reach out and touch the edges of them, reverently, sending a thrill down his spine.

Enough. He had been patient for much too long.

With no further preamble, he slipped his tongue into her, tasting the soaking arousal that had presented itself with such glistening glory. Mazikeen’s spine arched off the bed as she cried out in pleasure, and it encouraged him on (not that he was in need of it, of course). She tasted salty-sweet, like seawater kissed by morning sunlight, and her heat was velvety, yielding to the ministrations of his skilled mouth. When he sucked at the sensitive nub, the pearl of her womanhood, she all but screamed his name.

“God...oh my God!”

“Careful, my dear,” he said, pausing to replace his tongue with his fingers, exploring the deepest core of her, easily parting and playing at the slick flesh, his thumb on her jewel. “Were you not worried about blaspheming not long ago?”

“I…” Breath hitching, shuddering, gasping, mouth perpetually open and panting. “I’m going to…!”

“Oh, please do. I promise it won’t be the last.” He removed his hand and once more slipped his mouth against her entrance, kissing, biting softly with his lips, and as quickly as she was promising her climax, she was peaking, dropping her hips to grind against his face. Lucifer let her, drinking down the sweet expressions of her first wave of ecstasy.

Mazikeen was still catching her breath as he returned to her side, her desire drying on his face as he regarded her with a grin, albeit slightly smug. “If you enjoyed that so much, I think you’ll like what’s next.”

“No,” she breathed, practically throwing herself on him, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and tasting herself on him as he pushed back her mussed hair. “I don’t think I will _li_ _ke_  any of it.”

“Too true, darling,” he whispered, picking her up as knelt on the bed. The entire spectacle of devouring her inside and out had had no small effect on him, and he gave his hard length a pull as he positioned her now facing the mirror at the end of the bed, tugging her hips back so she could feel the full girth of him rub lengthwise against her rear and then between her legs, not entering but letting her fluids soak him. “Tell me you want this. Tell me how much you desire me, Mazikeen.”

“I do!” she groaned, trying to arch her hips, to bring him into her, but he held her firmly, denying her. “I want you, Lucifer. More than I have wanted for anything. Please...please take me!”

“Anything for you, dearest,” he said, finally biting into her neck as he pressed into her to the hilt. There was no resistance there; only a warm wet surrounding him, and Mazikeen’s deep, lustful moan calling out to him, grateful and so wanting.

He could no longer be slow, all of his restraint forgotten as he started slamming into her, over and over, a pace that was just short of painful. The force of all his hell-wrought power surged through him, and it manifested itself in the thrust of his loins, in the sucking kisses that left purple bruises along her shoulder, her back. It took its form in the way that he reached past the long strands of hair and gripped at the roots, the way he used it to leverage the snap of his hips. He could see her face in suspended animation in the mirror across from the bed, lips parted and panting, a rivulet of sweat tracking down the mottled deformity on the left half of her face.  

“Open your eyes, Mazikeen,” he breathed into her ear.

She did, her eye widening at the sight of her so thoroughly debauched. His wings had opened and entwined with hers in their coupling, the dark demon flesh pressing between the long feathers like they were fingers.

“Tell me, love...do you still think that angels and demons should not come together?”

Weakly, entranced, she shook her head as much as she could with the hold that he had on her hair. Such a simple admission should not have made him feel heady with arousal, a fiery inferno growing in his gut, curling up deep in his core, but…

“Stay with me,” he gasped.

“What…?” she panted, and he could tell from the quivering around his shaft that she, too, was close.

“Stay here. With me. I want you by my side. Not just tonight. Always.”

“Lucifer…”

“Please!” The word shot out of him like gunfire, unbidden and sudden. He was building to a nearly delirious cusp, but he knew that he wanted this. He needed this. Her. Mazikeen. At Ex Lux. In his life.

She started to tighten, to boil over, as she barely gasped, “Yes! I’ll stay...I promise! Lucifer, I --!”

The sounds they made were a discordant cacophony of joy that would rival any symphony. They came together, bodies and souls mingling, holding each other tight enough to bruise, wings tangling, and Lucifer understood that the moment was more than carnal fulfillment. It felt like a magic spell being cast, a brand, a tattoo, an inseverable bond. They were one, a single entity, now and…

Well, what was ‘forever’ to immortal lives?   

\---

**One year later…**

Lucifer can’t say that he is entirely surprised that Mazikeen is still here. She had sworn to him that night that she would remain, and she has. And it is hard for him to make sense of how happy he is, what ‘happiness’ even is, but...he thinks that this is it. No, he knows it.

She is leaning across the body of the grand piano, holding the old-fashioned microphone in one gloved hand as she sings the refrain of Auld Lang Syne for the crowd of demons, beasts and assorted old acquaintances of the day. The same red dress fits her still so, so well, and he knows this song by heart so he can watch her now instead of where his fingers move on the keys. A red dress, dark wings...she is so different but so much the same as she was when they first met.

They have both forgotten where the cloak is. She hasn’t even worn it since that night.

When she smiles at him, he is already smiling back. It’s a smile that takes over her whole face, an expression of utter devotion and love. He looks for any flaw, any change, any blemish in her beautiful face, and he knows she is still as flawless as ever.

He glances down in front of him. There’s no sheet music, of course, but there is one small token: a slightly bent playing card - a two of hearts - and upon it, half of a lip print, to remind him of that too perfect New Year’s Eve and the promise of many more to come.  


End file.
